


lift this weight, leave my light on

by vulturer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, PWP, Pegging, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Tentacles, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulturer/pseuds/vulturer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John beats a thunderstorm home, Rose has melted all over the bathroom, and they make do despite the absence of their other two pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lift this weight, leave my light on

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [lovely kink meme prompt](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38154.html?thread=38986250#cmt38986250), which I accidentally spilled some beta OT4 into. Happens every time...

___________________________________

  


At the top of the hill, John stops his bike and turns his face up to the sky. The spreading reach of a thunderhead's anvil dome towers so high up and so white, like an egg cracked and spilling on an upside-down blue tabletop, its black yolk spitting thunder. He can't stop himself from grinning, closing his eyes and _feeling_ it. It's a whisper in his ear, a growl in his stomach. It's in his fingertips and digging underneath hair follicles, like needles, like ice burn or the prickle of summer heat trapped in an old car. It's behind his eyes and tickling his nose. When he opens his mouth, he can taste its potential.

It tastes young, something new born out of old water. Faintly odorous, petrichor sharpened into knives by wind, just like how he used to do it. Back in the game when he was a weapon, grabbing the very currents from the air and turning them into spears, whirlpools, and waves of force. But here and now, he’s just a pivot.

The milk and frozen pizzas are sweating in the rear basket, but they'll be fine. Just a sec.

\- - -

GG: did you know that if you touch juliets boob youll find true love?  
TT: I did not know this.  
TT: What exactly was it like, touching Juliet's boob? If you don't mind me asking.  
TT: Did you feel the spark of romantic promise when it was your turn?  
GG: i dunno about THAT XP  
GG: it pretty much felt like touching a bronze statue ladys shiny boob  
GG: but i did get dave to laugh when i pretended to lick it!  
GG: a lot of people were staring and i think a little grossed out  
GG: totally worth it  
TT: I do hope he managed to compose himself enough to snap a photo of the irreplaceable moment.  
GG: dude  
GG: you dont even know  
GG: weve had to buy like a HUNDRED spare memory cards cause he wont stop taking stupid hipster pictures of LITERALLY EVERYTHING!! XO  
GG: i mean its super great that he wants to record all the places weve seen, and its easy to tell when hes really excited about a place even though he's all COOL and POKER FACED XD  
GG: but oh my god ive had to backtrack and fetch him so many times  
GG: lucky for him im so good at fetch! :D  
TT: More than you know.  
TT: I'm sure he would not feel nearly as careless were you not there to reign him in like a sheep dog to a stray wanderer.  
TT: I wonder what percentage of those photos are "artistic" portraits of you, hmm?  
GG: pff i dunno, he wont let me look at them  
TT: What a nerd.  
GG: suuuuuch a nerd XP  
TT: Do dish on your adventurous and surely pleasurable travels across the globe.  
TT: I'm dying for licentious blackmail, as per usual.  
TT: Also, John's reactions to Dave's many ticks tend to be priceless, and doubly so when he finds out I've told Dave his.  
TT: Have you discovered any new quirks or unsightly habits while on the trail?  
GG: oh my god like you wouldnt belieeeeeeve  
TT: Try me.  
TT: Tell me something about him that I am unaware of and see if I really am as incredulous as you so claim.  
TT: Feel free to describe in  
TT: titillating detail.  
TT: If you must.  
GG: hahaha yesss ;D  
GG: okay lets see......  
GG: oh i know!!! this is soooo coooooool  
GG: i timed it, and when hes sleeping,  
GG: his heart beats sixty times per minute!

\- - -

He dumps the groceries on the counter and gathers up the cold stuff. There's no rhyme to the fridge. Or, there is, but it's to the tune of _this fits here, sorta._ The freezer's full of Otter Pops—all of the cherry shoved to the side, cherry is the worst, but they’re kept for Dave and Jade—and the strawberries are going bad already, spotted with little fuzzy balls of snowy mold. He makes a face and closes the door. 

Wind rattles the windows, approaching. The window next to the little dinner table is open, letting in a breeze though the screen that teases the books pinned open by dirty cereal bowls. The thick air slides through the apartment, against John’s skin. He runs his fingers through his hair and breathes slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. When a gust kicks, he gets full body shivers; they start at the back of his neck, cloud his head in a rushing buzz of fireflies that swarm down the rest of his body, then back up and tunnel his vision. The wind dies, they die, but they're waiting. They're hiding in the sticky air that makes him sweat through his clothes, underneath his slipping glasses, in the creases of his palms.

He grabs a summer ale from the fridge and pops the cap, kicking off his sandals at the door. He empties out his pockets onto a tea stained dictionary and sits, eyes fixed out at the coming storm. The ale is sharp, bubbly citrus and tall grass. Each sip loses its edge slowly and wetly, dissolving into bittersweet earth that fights with the scent of rain in his nose. He shifts in the wooden chair, chewing on his lip, breathing out when the lightning hits and the thunder crawls over the buildings. He laughs at himself, embarrassed and thrilled, rubbing his fingers into his eyes and down over his mouth, fingertips sliding against day old stubble; the storm is furious and he is hard as a rock.

The thundercloud is nearly on top of the complex by the time he knocks back the last half-inch of beer, every hair standing on end. He sets the bottle on the counter and shuffles to the hallway where dark smoke swirls on the floor, low hanging black ocean fog.

\- - -

TG: would you rather eat an old cheesy nacho from under the couch or sing thats how i beat shaq at a bus station  
EB: nacho chip, definitely.  
EB: would you rather wax your legs or walk around in rose's black t-straps for a day?  
TG: goddamn those things are like ten inches  
TG: uh  
TG: leg wax  
TG: brief unbearable agony and itchiness for a week sounds better than blisters on top of blisters on top of achilles tendonitis  
EB: good choice, high heels are BRUTAL.  
TG: and you would know this how  
EB: morbid curiosity.  
EB: also she found a pair in my size at goodwill and dared me to.  
TG: what did you get for following through  
EB: wouldn't you like to know. ;B  
TG: you know what i really really dont  
TG: she gets freakier and deakier every week  
TG: pretty soon youll come home to a giant sinkhole straight to satans bowels where the kitchen was and sayonara sucker welcome to dantes domestic inferno  
TG: would you rather eat a tarantula or be forced to watch all five seasons of toddlers & tiaras clockwork orange style  
EB: holy shit, dude.  
TG: answer the question motherfucker  
EB: uh...  
EB: toddlers & tiaras, because fuuuuuck eating a spider.  
EB: just thinking about it is scarring me for life, you asshole.  
EB: and you're so full of shit, you totally think rose's spooky stuff is hot!  
EB: jade and i saw you two macking on the couch once and there was some definite grimdarkyness all up in your business, bwahahaha.  
EB: would you rather get tortured like that one scene from casino royale or that one scene from kiss kiss bang bang?  
TG: kiss kiss bang bang you utter fucking testicular sadist and get fucked a hundred times by lalondes cephalopodian appendages  
TG: i do not think her spooky stuff is hot  
EB: lies and slander, man, so much lies and slander.  
EB: and chillax, we all do.  
TG: what the fuck ever  
EB: hahaha idiot. how's the trip?  
TG: baller as hell ngl  
EB: sweet.  
EB: you gonna come visit soon?  
EB: it's been like a MILLION years.  
TG: yeah sure feels like it  
TG: sorta feels like its been just a few days too  
TG: time am i right  
EB: pfff.  
TG: and idk i'll ask jade when shes up  
TG: i think theres a bunch of stuff left on her to do  
TG: would you rather bone a squid or bone a dog  
EB: awesome!  
EB: and die in a fire.

\- - -

"Tut tut!" he says and pushes open the bathroom door without knocking. The door disturbs the haze and sends it whirling, whirlpools, and he snorts when he sees the tile walls and mirror and linoleum floor dripping with ink. A porcelain bathtub holds in a few inches of a pitchy mass that curls and writhes like simmering tar. Some smoke spills out of the tub and creeps along to grab at his ankles, and he squats down, holding out a hand. "Feels like rain."

There’s a flash of light and the perceptual reality of the bathroom seems to twitch slightly, then thunder and the first drops of rain. John swallows. The wisps form more solid tendrils that wrap around his forearm and reach up to touch his face, saying hello. He grins and says, "Hey lady! You're looking gross today."

The mass gloops with volleyball bubbles, swirling and lashing out ropes of slime, sliding against the tile and feeling at the fixtures. "Yeah, same," he says. Thunder booms, followed by a lash of droplets kicked by a gust, and he stands, stepping up onto the rim of the tub so he can reach the window and let in the storm. The wind bats at the shower curtain and Rose inhales, a dozen arms crawling the tiles to get to the window. She wraps around John’s legs calves, slipping against his skin and clothes weirdly, like gel that leaves only a psychosomatic residue, like a memory of ice that she steals back. He blinks at a flash of lightning, nerves like sparks, and curses inelegantly under his breath, laughing, “Cold cold cold cold! Ahhhaha...”

Her surface bubbles with foam, a pale tinted grey that gets sucked back into black, shivering as she curls around John’s legs. He steps down into the tub, through her, but she simply reforms around him, solid-ish, half-sublimating. She tickles.

\- - -

TT: Having fun?  
TG: by fun do you mean regularly having to haul ass like a mud caked f-650 every time jade sees a rabbit hop innocently into her periphery  
TG: if so then yes loads  
TG: my calves could cut diamonds  
TG: i am iron man  
TT: Hot.  
TG: gross  
TT: Where are you now?  
TG: crete  
TG: yes i have been continuously shitfaced in case you were wondering  
TG: go ahead tmi tuesday i'll reveal my innermost sick fetishes like a velvet wrapped butcher knife set covered in something vaguely suggestive  
TT: How furry are you?  
TT: On a scale of cat ears to frotting furiously in fursuits.  
TG: oh honey purrmusk has done things that would make your tentadick curlicue into fucking fractals  
TT: Remind me to give Jade a fistbunp next time you two are stateside.  
TG: better yet i'll just pass it on  
TG: she says: *bunp* >:3  
TT: Speaking of yiffing, John's been hounding me to get you two to come visit soon, seeing as how you both ignore his many fleas for bromantic reunion.  
TT: *pleas  
TT: Contrary to his annoying yet somehow endearing insistence on the timing being "your choice," I have no qualms about demanding your presence.  
TT: I expect you to bring a wheelbarrow full of wine and a crate of good chocolate, by the way.  
TG: yeah sure we can pop on over to chef boyardees vineyard and grab a balthazar of nineteenth century vintage or something  
TG: drink it on the wormhole back and pick up some box wine for you schmucks  
TG: simmer down now we'll get a bakers dozen cause i know youre a bottomless wino pit with a reckless streak the size of the english channel and egberts pathetically easy to dare  
TG: anyone who claims we cant be magnanimous as balls is absolutely filthy with lies  
TT: With your balls being the standard of measurement here?  
TT: So, roughly, together you and Jade are about as magnanimous as say...  
TT: Six and a half of your balls?  
TG: jesus christ who taught you math  
TG: no like a quarter of one of my balls nobody can be as magnanimous as six and half are you fuckered  
TG: mama theresa would have to go back and dig up st francis from his grave and walk around passing out lollipops and 401ks to all recent college graduates to even come close to one of my balls  
TT: So what you're saying is that you want a blowjob from Mother Theresa.  
TG: y  
TT: Truly, who wouldn't?  
TT: You still haven't really answered my question, however.  
TG: when do you want us  
TT: Always. ;)  
TG: :O  
TT: ;D <3  
TG: X3 <33333  
TT: Whenever you're free from exploring catacombs and snickering at dirty jokes in cathedral murals is fine.  
TT: No rush.  
TG: cool i'll drop a line whenever so you and foureyes can clean up your pigsty  
TG: hide the dragon dildos take down the stripper pole go get some bagels and mac n cheese  
TG: on second thought leave the pole up  
TG: a guy needs his exercise  
TT: Will do. I will make sure to dust off the disco lights as well.  
TT: I would feel tremendously guilty if your exotic dancer chi was thrown out of whack.  
TG: youre a true bro, sis  
TT: Damn straight, my dear ectogenetically related sibling.  
TT: At the moment, however, I'm not feeling particularly patient enough to wait until you grace us humble lowlifes with your presence, nor do I entertain the notion that we will be sober enough to hold a decent conversation when you do, so...  
TG: haha yeah  
TG: so whats up  
TT: Seen any notable artwork of questionable taste?  
TG: oh shit where do i even start  
TT: Anywhere.

\- - -

“Could you be a little less... you know,” John says and hisses when she feels up his chest under his shirt, grappling at his arms and voice. He leans back against the slope of the tub and tries not to crack up when she sidles up above him, just doing whatever she pleases. “Auuugh... less liquid? It’s weird. You’re weird.”

He’s still not used to this. To her strange and hellish form, the literal meltdown that follows her wanting to see, but it’s that inescapable surreality, that creep factor that reminds him that things are still at least a teeny bit normal. That they haven’t become nightmares or ghosts, they’re still flesh and bone with just a little bit of a curse. That they can turn back at any time. That it’s okay.

That the touch against his legs and chest is slime now, but can be skin again tomorrow. That when he arches his back as she slides up his cargo shorts, he can brush it off later as tipsiness, as being caught up in the electric arousal of the monsoon drowning the apartment complex. She knows though; he’s such a liar, and she knows. She can feel him twitch as lightning echoes in his bones and skin, following the remembered paths of lightning flowers that she got a kick out of tracing with ballpoint pens before they disappeared. He has been struck by lightning six times, each strike a small circle etched later in ink on his brown skin. Each time a reminder. Spots that he scratches without thinking; when she catches him, she fixes him with a crafty look that makes him scowl, or maybe roll his eyes, or look back with a crooked grin.

She shivers with a horrible imitation of laughter at the choppy grunts that he makes when she moves across his stomach. Up his chest, around his neck. “Wait,” he says, “Let me get. Ungh.” He gets his shirt off the way that always does, pulling from the back of the neck instead of the bottom hem. He knocks his glasses off. She feels around them, the chewed-on plastic ends, the little notches in the tiny screws, and sets them on the little soap ledge.

She’s tugging at his belt as he leans back and closes his eyes. She threads herself through his fingers like honey through comb teeth, but solid enough to form cords that hold him close. She’s an anchor, she’s glue that keeps him from running outside, climbing up to the roof and spreading out his arms to take the storm for his. He’s been relearning how to fly, but it’s hard. It’s taken months and months to be able to hover a meter. She’s pulled him down more than once with a hard look. He’s kissed her into exasperated forgiveness, and promised her a backrub, cleaning duty for a week, and first dibs on the bathroom, which is her favorite place in the world. The slick tile and slick countertop let her reach out and feel things; the only thing that stains is the grout. But it was grimy already.

\- - -

EB: OKAY.  
EB: I GIVE UP.  
EB: JUST COME BACK ALREADY AAAARRRGHHH.  
GG: magic word!!! :3  
EB: shut up and materialize on the doorstep already, you're driving us completely nuts!  
EB: there are so many cherry otter pops in our fridge.  
EB: all of the cherry otter pops.  
EB: all of them.  
GG: well, when you put it like that.........  
EB: ????????  
GG: soon!  
EB: god damnit jade, we miss you guys a ton okay, jeeeeeeeez.  
GG: jeeeeeeeez!!!!  
EB: JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ.  
GG: we miss you too, but theres still a few places left to tackle  
GG: dont worry we got a TON of souvenirs  
GG: and apparently we have to bring back a boatload of wine and chocolate, according to what dave just told me  
EB: hahaha that was probably rose's doing.  
EB: so does that mean you're coming back soon?  
EB: ish?  
EB: in the next year?  
GG: DEFINITELY in the next year, doofus :P  
GG: soon, i promise  
GG: pinky swear  
EB: you do realize how serious a pinky swear is.  
GG: i most certainly do  
EB: okay then, pinky swear consecrated!  
EB: but i'm glad you're having fun.  
GG: me too!!!!!  
GG: are you doing okay though?  
EB: oh yeah, definitely!  
EB: rose is the best.  
EB: it's just great having you guys around, is all.  
EB: but yeah, she's great.  
EB: we're doing great.  
GG: :D  
EB: come back soon, though.  
GG: you know we will  
EB: yeah, i know.  
EB: and with lots of stories, i hope!  
GG: soooo many stories :P  
GG: all of the stories  
GG: ALL OF THEM!!! XD  
EB: haha, yesss!  
GG: <3  
EB: <3

\- - -

“Gimme your face,” John says. His laugh stumbles into a groan as she tries to wiggle his shorts and boxers off. He lifts up his waist to make it easier, and she dumps the clothes over the edge of the tub and reforms partly, holding herself above him. She is Rose-ish enough for him to lean up and, not kiss, but smoosh his mouth against her. It’s the thought that matters.

She oozes up to hold his chin, a shape strange and jutting, bristly and rubbing against her like sandpaper. It’s familiar; he’s lazy. He thinks beards are cool and refuses to shave until she threatens to die the stubble neon green (which she has done, twice). But she leaves it to grow when Dave and Jade visit; he bowls them over with gusts of wind and buries his chin into their stomachs, rubs it against their cheeks, and smothers them with itchy kisses until they shout and wrestle him off. Rose watches it all from her perch on the counter, a hand covering her mouth, trying to keep her laughter from bursting.

She ghosts against his eyelashes, shivers in satisfaction at his stuttering laugh and sort of embarrassed snorts. When he does his best to make this outright silly, she envelops his stiff cock to shut him up, which almost works. But he’s never serious, and even if he is, there’s always some private joke firing in his head. Something he keeps to himself and laughs at softly through his nose, smirking briefly at his own wit. Even now, he’s grinning and biting on his tongue, his chest heaving when the old walls shake with thunder, and she feels up the slopes of his legs and the ridges that his ribs makes when he squirms. She touches his large teeth and cords around his back, moves to wrap around his thighs and he thinks it’s hilarious.

She examines him like a specimen, a completely willing cadaver who splutters when her knife touches a pressure point. He is so far from suave that it loops back around into something charming, and she bubbles and foams with her own brand of mirth, pushing and prodding until he’s cackling and groaning and hissing her name. It stops being a real word and then it’s just sounds.

It's not enough. She focuses, going still and pulling against him, twisting and pulling back some of the smoke that escaped. He stretches out his arms so that she has something to hold on to as she tries to remember how shoulders are formed, how long of a neck to make, how thick a tongue needs to be to click out a single velar stop cradled by elastic vowels. No need to be too precise on looks; John's hilariously blind without his glasses, just sharp enough enough to see shapes and colors as the specifics to his other senses.

"Okay?" comes out of her sort-of throat when she's solid enough to gurgle an attempt at speech. John stares at her and for a second or two there is only the sound of rain.

Then he says, "Yeah," with a nod and a grin. She smiles back even though he probably can't tell and then melts over him and then slides between his legs and then lets her slickness work conveniently in her favor. She keeps him distracted by sliding and pumping around his cock while a small tendril of her slips down lower and presses into his cleft gently, minding the sound of his breath hissing around his teeth. And, of fucking course, he howls with laughter and covers his face with his hands, moaning _oh my goooods_ and _fuuuuuuucks,_ so she smacks his arm with a thick limb. He slides down to the bottom of the bathtub with a groan, but puts one foot up against the facing wall and pushes his waist up with the other for easier access. And then it just works. She edges her way inside softly, but insistently, and at some point he stops sniggering. And maybe it's all focused down yonder for him, but she is everything, she's in the air and smothering his muscles and bones, smearing herself in his hair and dripping down the walls. She’s tied around a ribcage that swells and collapses in a sloppy rhythm with her pulses and thrusts. She's fucking him where it makes sense, but she's feeling it all over. Feeling up his pectorals and taught hamstrings and thick hammer arms that he brags about every chance he gets. She can taste the heat of breathing and a thin sheen of sweat, or... maybe it’s condensation. By losing focus, he’s dragged the storm inside, subconsciously stolen a cloud.

 _Yes,_ is the sentiment inside of her. A wave of _yes_ as the air starts to shiver with vapor, spitting tiny droplets of rain on to her membrane. She thickens the parts of herself underneath John’s shoulder-blades and skull for comfort, and the parts inside of him for the hell of it. For more. The curses that cough out of him fill her with a devious sense of pride. She is so smug.

It’s best this way, falling prey to their lovely magic. Every little bit gets them all closer to flying, closer to screwing with reality on purpose and goofing up the system. Every sloppy experiment leads to exhaustion, tangling limbs, feeding each other junk food, and lying on rooftops staring through the stars. She prods and pulses until she finds that spot and gurgles happily when John jerks and throws an arm over his eyes. Water sprinkles and soaks the bathroom rugs and lightning hits close, less than seven seconds away, less than a mile. She pumps him faster, wrapping around his arms and legs, drawing up into her torso so she can lean over him and watch as well as feel. Her own arousal is phantasmal, but she has the best imagination and she rides it hard, fantastically dizzy. When she pushes him past the edge, he shouts the simplest cuss words he knows as he arches his back, breathing so violently that the bathroom becomes a tiny hurricane, much to Rose's absolute delight. She ruthlessly pumps the orgasm out of him to see just how much she can get him to make it storm, and when he finally slumps back bonelessly into the tub, they are both useless.

Eventually he cracks an eye open to find a mostly humanoid figure flopped on top of him, running her hands over him to remind herself what skin is supposed to feel like. He lazily returns the favor, drinking in the soft rush of rain.

\- - -

An hour later they will wake up and drag themselves out of the tub, laughing at their comical post-coital incoordination, and stumble into the bedroom to grab some clothes off the floor. Rose will pull on one of John's old t-shirts and John will hop into some gym shorts. On the way to the roof, Rose will grab an umbrella while John gets a cigar and lighter, and they will lean against the swamp cooler with their legs outstretched, spattered with the steady rain, and make pleased faces at the warm smoke's tongue bite.

They will lean against each other and talk about nothing, waiting for the other two pieces of their quadrature to come and make them whole.


End file.
